The Opinions of Atlas
by Trivial Pursuit
Summary: Andrew Prior has made his bed and now he must lie in it.


_Atlas was permitted the opinion that he was at liberty, if he wished, to drop the Earth and creep away; but this opinion was all that he was permitted._

_-Franz Kafka_

* * *

'Jeanine.'

'Andrew.' She looks tired, as though the weight of that seemingly unparalleled intellect is crushing her into the earth and he wants to reach out and take some of her load, to smooth out the furrows in her forehead but he no longer has the right to do so. Instead he gestures for her to enter the conference room.

(_He has made his bed and now he must lie in it._)

* * *

She grips his hand tightly as they creep up and down the spiral staircases that link together the various levels of the Erudite library; they both learned the Dewey Decimal long ago so their fingers dance surely along the spines of books in shelves, checking position in the library based solely off of the numbers attached to the spines.

They play games, one of them quoting a passage from a book in an aisle and the other finding the book, or holding competitions based off fact recall or reading abilities.

(_He thinks later that these were the best days of his life._)

* * *

He sees the accusation in her eyes as blood spatters the stones, the loathing, the pain. It is excruciating, and for one moment he considers begging for a do-over, claiming temporary insanity or a slip of the hand. But he doesn't, because he remembers the woman's screams and remembers the hardness in her eyes when she speaks of the 'greater good'.

* * *

'_She has ineffable courtesy, is my beatitude, the destroyer of all vices and the queen of virtue, salvation._' They are lying on the lawn, his head resting on her stomach, both with books propped up on their chests, her nails scratching lightly across his scalp. 'Perhaps if I have a daughter I will name her Beatrice, and she could be our salvation.'

'Beatrice. French; meaning traveller, voyager, or blessed creature. You could call her Tris for short.' Sometimes, ever after all these years, he is surprised when she says things that she would normally call silly or frivolous, illogical, but he savours the moment.

'_Bice_, my daughter would never be a _Tris_. She would be the best of us, a true Erudite.' Her hand stills in his hair and he can all ready hear the cogs of her brain whirring to life, pondering this perfect child.

(_'Beatrice,' Her eyes flicker from his daughter's to his, if only for a moment, and the rage in them is unfathomable._)

* * *

They clutch hands as they enter school for the first time, their other hands curling around new schoolbags packed with fresh notebooks and new pens, the crush of a student body made up of not only Erudite around them simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying him in equal measure, and he knows she feels the same.

* * *

'We make accusations against good men, men who serve the greater good, _yet Brutus says he was ambitious; and Brutus is an honourable man_.' He grips the podium tightly, and he sees her cock her head arrogantly challenging him, '_I speak, not to disprove what Brutus spoke, but here I am to speak what I do know_, Marcus Eaton is not a cruel man, he is good and he is selfless, he has lost much in his life and withstood remarkable pressure admirably. He is true Abnegation.' Marcus nods thankfully at him even as Jeanine narrows her eyes, a smile twitching across her lips.

* * *

'_Erudite_,' is what his test results say, and they simply confirm what he already knows, though they will not change his mind.

(_His resolve almost falters when he sees her grin._)

* * *

The woman, a Factionless he thinks, in the grand scheme of things almost no one at all. Yet there she is, lying on a cold steel table straining against leather straps and writhing in agony.

She turns and looks him straight in the eye, 'Help me, please.' The words are whispered and Andrew stumbles back, as if she has struck him, groping blindly behind him for the door. As soon as he exist the room he vomits everything in his stomach until his esophagus burns with stomach acid and he can't get anything else out.

Jeanine finds him three hours later curled up on the floor in 144 staring at the knots in the wood of the shelves, and she sits down next to him, awkwardly folding her legs to her chest in her Erudite-blue skirt.

'She had green eyes,' he says, 'like jade.'

(_Later he'll know that this was the beginning of the end._)

* * *

Natalie leaps off the train with the rest of the Dauntless-born and he's sure he's never seen her before, except the Dauntless all seem to be the same so he brushes it off. Yet there she is, this strange, unfamiliar creature who is reckless and brave and contradicts everything he believes to be true. He finds himself seeking her out, asking her about Dauntless, about herself, and she speaks but does not share, yet a sort of intimacy grows between them and he thinks she might become his second friend.

* * *

'_Erudite_. You were meant to be here, with me.'

'Is the fault in our stars or in ourselves?'

The elevator doors open and questions go unasked and unanswered.

* * *

He tells Natalie about the woman and she does not speak of the greater good, instead she raises a hand and wipes what he realises are tears from his cheeks.

'It's hard to follow both our faction and our hearts. I sometimes think that complete selflessness would be the ultimate freedom.'

* * *

'The heinous accusations made against Marcus Eaton must be investigated by an impartial committee. If they are true then they must be dealt with accordingly to the utmost of the law. As is, they cast serious doubt, not only on Abnegation's ability to select a leader, but also their ability to govern effectively.' He grits his teeth, wanting to shout out, to retort, to enter into a battle of wits like the ones they used to have, but that is not him anymore, he is Abnegation now, not one for goading and debating over politics.

She smirks, her eyes full of spite, daring him to say something, and no matter how he wants to, he cannot give her the satisfaction.

He turns and walks away.

* * *

'Andrew.'

'Jeanine.'

She enters the elevator. He takes the stairs.

* * *

'You promised me! We were going to be brilliant together!' The look in her eyes is wild and pleading.

'I..' He is unsure of what to say.

'We can tell them you made a mistake, that you didn't mean to pick Abnegation, maybe they'll let you come back. _Please_.'

'Jeanine, I picked Abnegation, I did't make a mistake.'

'Is this about her? That Dauntless?'

'Natalie and I are… Natalie and I are _something_.' Because he will never have to share Natalie with the rest of Erudite and their demands for her time, and that is what he loves about Jeanine, that she is so brilliant and ambitious

'You _promised_ me!' She is desperately grasping for an understanding he does not have to gift her with.

'We all must serve the greater good in our own little ways, Jeanine.' And it's cruel, he knows, to fling her own words back at her like a slap in the face, but he must be allowed this last act of defiant rage before he becomes Abnegation.

Her eyes become hard then, and he can almost feel her moving away from him. 'So be it.' She turns on her heel and walks away.

* * *

He stands with his children in his arms, waiting for the gunfire to halt and he wonders how much of this is his burden to bear.

(_Andrew Prior has made his bed and now he must lie in it_.)


End file.
